


Astrovitae

by Nine_Stoic_Crayolas



Category: Naruto
Genre: BAMF Haruno Sakura, Chakra as Bending, EVERYONE - Freeform, Everyone is older, Exploration of Chakra Usage????, Gen, Haruno Sakura-centric, I'll add tags later I guess, Iwa-girl, Namikaze Minato Lives, Prisoner of War, Sakura is from a Tribe, She is angry and tired and alone, Team Bonding, Team Minato - Freeform, Team Minato-centric, Team as Family, Third Shinobi War AU, team seven, we'll see where this clusterfuck goes, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 15:35:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14547888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nine_Stoic_Crayolas/pseuds/Nine_Stoic_Crayolas
Summary: Sometimes she wonders whether the names would ever matter at all, if they would ever stain someone else's soul just as much as they did hers.





	Astrovitae

A slick, heavy sound that scraped against the thick rock drums woke her from her sleep. The vibrations made the mountain tremble; the sound shaking the very foundations of the rock, drilling a shrill, grating reverberation that wrapped itself around her heart.

Outside, there was a clash of swords, the screech of metal on metal, and then the shouting began. Her breath caught in her lungs when she heard the scream of the Warrior, a bellowing noise that nearly drowned out the Rasping Rock thundering atop the mountain. There were groans and grunts of sweating, tumultuous anger that travelled through the air, stabbing through her with a fierce terror.

It was with a primal fear, the slick of her sweat on her skin, the trembling of her calloused hands that she jolted out of the haystack the hefty furs slipping off her tan shoulders.

There were another slew of screams, terror running rampant through the air. There were wet, gurgled cries, and she could imagine her tribesmen choking on dying screams, blades running seamlessly through their hearts. Even inside her home, she could smell the sharp sting of smoke and the bitter taste of carbon and soot on her tongue—this was war, it screamed. This was battle.

Another shrill, grating scream echoed from the Rasping Rock and the sound vibrated through her body, clutching at the panic that began to bloom through her chest, teasing it with every strike the mallet beat against it.

Sweat began to form at her temple as she rushed out of bed, lunging for the thick-soled fur boots that lined the door of her hut. Her heart pounded in her throat, and she could feel the exact way that sweat gathered at her spine and dripped down the ridges of her back with smooth, controlled efficiency. She pulled on her hard-soled boots with a startling speed and snagged her sleeping jodhpurs with a loose hand, keeping it from sliding down to her knees. She fastened her hair atop her head, the braid flopping against her cheek as she twisted it into a neat bun.

She could hear the screaming and screech of war just outside her home and she prayed that they wouldn’t find her. She had been trained in battle—to sow the seeds of war and violence, and reap the benefits of the dead—since the day she could walk. Her body was strong, her mind even fiercer but even she knew that she was not capable of slaughtering the warriors outside. Her small, muscled frame could be a vantage point but she had spent enough time amongst her mothers’ to know that she was still a _child_ and they were _adults._

The laws of nature surpassed those of her warrior tribe.

Once again, the sound of the mallet scraping against the Rasping Rock slithered down her spine and caved through her lulled senses like a knife through water. The sickening fear bloomed again, as sharp and bitter as the night inside of her and she hurried to attach the cord around her waist to keep her knit-tunic from falling. Quickly, she stuffed her thick woolen nightshirt into her waistline, the loose clothing bunching at her waist. There was no time to cloak herself with the markings of her tribe—her coal earrings lay scattered on her table, her ceremonial bone fragments missing from her pink curls—so she simply slipped on her heaviest wool coat and tucked three pairs of long underwear and socks into her inner pockets.

There was a rustle, and then the flaps of her home burst open with a shout. She lurched for the blades resting atop a sturdy rock dresser, ready to slice away skin and bone like her Mothers’ taught her. In her fear and rage, she forgot to recognize the familiar dusty pink of her mother’s hair. She let out a shattering scream, and the bloodlust filled her—she did not know the enemy, not yet, but she knew that they had snuck in at the peek of dawn, like cowards, and had begun slaughtering her tribe mercilessly.

She swung her blade—a heavy, iron thing that had been forged by their Brother Tribe on her fourth birthday—and she snarled as she caught skin. She raised her blade again, ready to kill when she stuttered, her breath catching in her throat as she recognized who stood before her.

“Enough, Sakura!” Her mother stood in front of her, panting, and she sucked in a breath at the sight of the blood that trickled down the older woman’s tattooed cheek. Her eyes roved over the ripped wound on her shoulder; it bled, a flap of bloodied, loose skin jiggling every time she breathed too hard.

The swords had done their job well—too well. They felt heavy in her hands, blood dripping off the edge, and for once, she remembered the heavy warning that her Mother had given her; _they will be extensions of your hands, Sakura but remember_ —and she would always think of her glinting dark eyes, and the regret that swallowed them whole— _they will always be harbingers of violence; only use them when you need them the most._

“Mama…” She began to say, gutting remorse cutting through her burning bloodlust, reaching forward to smooth away the sticky red that bled through her mother’s collar, but her trembling hands were slapped away.

“What are you still doing here?” Her mother hissed, panic making her edgy. Sakura could see just how much the idea of her daughter staying in a warzone terrified her; just how much she wished she could whisk her away and hide her until the battle washed away with the dying light of day.

“I only woke when I heard the Rasping Rock.” Sakura said, the grip on her blades relenting just the slightest. “No one came in here apart from you.”

For a moment, her mother’s face twisted with fear, her lips thinning so much they looked bloodless in the dim haze of Sakura’s hut. Then the expression washed away with a blink, the familiar gleam of determined anger burning in her green eyes once more.

“They must have gotten them first.” Her mother said, hushed, as if she couldn’t believe that their tribesmen were just…gone.

“Quickly.” Her mother urged, eyes flashing. Her face was pale and she was sweating, a glitter of fear echoing through her frame. “The—the Rika Colony—they’re coming.”

Icy fear slithered down her throat and she swallowed down the horror that threatened to overcome her. In all of Stone, there were none quite as brutal as the Rika. Her own Tribe, the Haru were second to none when it came to the fighting arts; but where her Tribe was somewhat peaceful—they stuck to themselves and their Brother Tribe, the Akihide, and bothered no one—the Rika were scum of the lowest order. There was no peace, no respect within their territory and they excelled in the art of breaking simple men. She had heard them once, a faraway cry over the mountaintop, and she remembered the way their voices had sown fear into the Mothers souls, before she had been dragged into her home with the rest of the children and told to be very quiet and very, very still.

There had only been one other Tribe that had the ability to destroy them, and that had been the Hokamichi, a tribe of bloodthirsty men who feasted on the flesh of their wives and dined on their children’s screams. The Rika were said to be a derivative of their madness, their origins vague and dark, and they had surged the Hokamichi’s valley at dusk, slaughtering them all in their beds.

She must have swayed for a second too long because her mother lurched forward and grabbed at her shoulders, her curved nails digging into her skin.

“You must hurry, Sakura. You must not let them find you.” Her mother urged her, green eyes following hers. “They will slaughter you were you stand.”

“But I must fight—“She tried to protest. This was her Tribe—her _family_ —her _home_ —she could not just do _nothing._

“No. _No._ ” Her mother said, eyes far too wide, panic beginning to settle in their green depths. “They have massacred everyone that stood in their way. You must run. The rest of the _hashin_ have been killed. The others…they have been taken, my sweet girl. You are the last, Sakura.”

Tears burned at her eyes and she bit her lip to stop them from falling. She drew her mother closer, fitting her forehead against hers. The older woman clutched at her cheeks, murmuring a soft, helpless prayer, and Sakura swore that she saw tears in her eyes.

They stayed there for half a minute, the sound of the heavy raspy drum heaving against the impervious, ever-resilient mountainside and Sakura closed her eyes, breathing in the smell of the fresh mountain air, the hay she had lain in and comfort of her mother’s warm skin against hers.

Then, her mother pulled away, wiping at her wet cheeks. A fire burned in her green eyes and Sakura blinked once, twice, to allow herself a moment to grieve before she let go of her mother’s warm body.

“Where do I go?” She asked, barely breathing. “How will I escape?”

_What do I do?_ She wanted to cry. 

She hadn’t prepared for this when they had gone to war. She had been made in the heat of battle, spawned by bloodlust and violence, but her mother had always made sure to keep her far away from the conflicts of Iwa and their Third War. The giants of the shinobi world were omnipresent in their small tribe and their Tsuchikage, Onoki, had called upon every last reserve that his country produced to quell the wars that spread across Suna, Konoha, Kiri and Kumo. Sakura had only ever seen her mother three times in her youth: once, when she was a year old, the next on her fifth birthday, and then now, as she turned eleven yesterday.

Sakura knew that her mother was only supposed to stay for a night before she was deployed again. Suna had gained the advantage with Konoha as their ally, leaving Iwa feeling threatened and baying for another battle. Her mother said the Tsuchikage needed them more than ever. The rest of the clans and villages were either too terrified by the threat of the tribes or the Konoha-nin with their bloodied hands and _Will of Fire_ and Orochimaru—Danzo—Sarutobi Hiruzen—The Uchiha, The Senju, The Uzumaki, The Hatake, The lone Namikaze. Konoha was deadly, and Iwa was terrified to the very bone, but her mother had told her that they would _fight_ for the Tsuchikage and so Sakura would _fight._

“You will head south, to Iwa. You will tell them you are a recruit.” Her mother said quickly, pressing something cool and sleek into her hands. It shifted with her movement and Sakura winced against the bite of a stinging blade. Blood dripped down her fingers as her mother spoke. “You will change your name—you will be the Tribe’s Mio instead of my Sakura. Keep your hair covered, dye it if you must. No one must learn of your heritage.”

“What about—what about you?” Sakura whispered, eyes roving over her mother’s flinty ones. She could tell the older woman was desperately itching for a fight, to avenge her tribe and cohort-mates, to slice through the attacker’s bones and skin and stick their skulls on lances.

Sakura was terrified. Yes, her mother was a warrior, a proud, fearless one at that. Their tribe cultivated strength through battle and her mother was one of the finest fighters they had ever created. She knew, from countless stories around the fires that her mother was legend. She had broken through thousands of enemy lines, slaughtering everything and everyone that stood in her path. Ame’s Hanzo, in particular, was terrified of her mother’s ability to rain rock, fire and water down on the earth, to lay waste to entire battlefields with a flick of her chakra, with a flick of the _Hashin._

But she was still the last woman standing, she could recognize that now, looking into her mother’s determined, pale face. Sakura knew there was no one outside of her tent flaps. No one to help back her mother up. No one to watch her mother’s back. No one to keep her _alive_ so that she could return to Sakura.

Her mother smiled and for the first time, as she looked into her mother’s face for the last time, she noticed just how ferocious she was. Her pink hair was shaved on the sides, her bone-picks littering the tight, neat braid that fell down her back in a straight line, and her soul markings shone on her cheeks. The roving lines of the tattooed seashore glittered with tears, and Sakura watched as the ink traveled down her mother’s throat—dolphins, whales and orcas dancing across the notch of her trachea, mosaic patterns spattering near her ears—and disappeared under the collar of her red warrior’s tunic.

Sakura watched her mother smile. It was heartbreakingly beautiful and she ached for more time. She wanted her mother to come home, and _stay home_ , she wanted her mother to show her the ways of the tribe like the other mothers did their daughters. She wanted her to braid Sakura’s hair and tell her stories about her own mother, Sakura’s grandmother, to bring her to the rainbow waterfall and teach her how to prepare for the coming of age festival. She wanted her mother to help her recover after she finished her last _hashin_ training and drank from the highest stream of the mountain, her head woozy, and a smile on her face and then tell her she was _so proud._

Sakura wanted her _mother_.

“Don’t worry musume. I am _always_ with you.” Her mother said quickly. There was a crash outside of the hut and Sakura’s lungs tightened in her chest.

The sound of the drums had stopped.

The little bell girls with their wide smiles and fluttering peach hair were _dead—gone—slaughtered_ —and Sakura could imagine them broken, their throats opened across the rocks, blood lathering their locks, eyes glazed, panic stuck in their dead, dead eyes.

“My sweet girl,” Her mother smiled again. Sakura watched her as her heart started to crack within her chest, splintering in her lungs, digging a wound into her soul. She didn’t want to let go, not now, not _ever._ “Swift as the earth that runs beneath your feet, my love.”

(She needed to _fight.)_

“And heavy as the shadows that curl around our hearts.” Sakura recited back just as quickly. The words of their tribe were soothing, and just for a moment, Sakura could pretend it was a normal day, when the Mothers preened about duty and bored her to death about her more spiritual training.

And then, someone yelled outside. There was a heavy slap of bone against the ground, a jarring, screeching sound that made Sakura want to hide her head under her fur blankets, and then the screaming began.

“They found the children.” Her mother’s face turned a deathly shade of white. Dazed green eyes swung back to hers, and Sakura saw desperation grow there, like a seed of swaying doubt. “Mio—“Her mother’s eyes hardened at Sakura’s despair, “Yes, you are Mio now, not Sakura—you are _Mio_ our Tribe’s greatest prodigy—you must go now. Cover your hair. Take the river all the way to Iwa. _Do not let them know whose daughter you are.”_

“What about Maki—my iugum—“

“There is no _time,_ Mio.” Her mother urged. “Go, _go!”_

Sakura nodded frantically, and then clutched her hands so tightly the skin of her fingers parted like smooth, heated butter. Blood stained her wrists and she held back a sob as she swung them over her back, fastening them around her shoulders just as swiftly. She staunched the bleeding against her mother’s chain metal, trying to keep her near her for one last time.

“I love you mother.” Sakura gasped, eyes darting to the tent flap. The sound of footsteps came closer. “May the _Gaeshin_ stay with you.”

“And with you.” Her mother breathed out, drawing her close one last time. Their mouths bumped together in a lasting embrace, and Sakura sobbed as her mother murmured a lullaby against her lips, and then pulled away.

She drank in her mother’s face for the last time, catching the last of her tears, before she was shoved out of the backdoor. Sakura didn’t look back as she bolted through the curtains, her eyes stinging with tears, her teeth caving through her lips.

She didn’t look back even as she heard the dying screams of those around her. She didn’t stop for the broken, bleeding messy piles of blood and guts. She didn’t stop for the broken, dying forms on the side of the mountain, her feet taking her to safety, her mother’s warnings echoing in her ears.

She would make it to Iwa.

_(She would make it to Iwa or nowhere at all.)_

Smoke rose, high, thick and billowing over the mountaintop, the ghostly echo of the drums reverberating one last time and Sakura sobbed as she raced across the meadows, the farmers’ fields, all the way up to the Rock’s Ledge.

The Haru Tribe had fallen and war was upon her for the first time in her short life.

**Author's Note:**

> owhdoiewjdijwqodjwqd I don't know what i'm doing anymore??? at this point, lemme just write shit. hope you all enjoy this????


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